


Mark's Journal

by LuminiaAravis



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, M/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminiaAravis/pseuds/LuminiaAravis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a hand-written manuscript of a journal I kept during my first playthrough of Fallout. Experience the game through the eyes of my Sole Survivor, Mark, as he struggles with depression, his identity as sole survivor, the concept of family, and searches for a reason to keep on going. </p><p>Hopefully this is a little different than the other fics out there, because it was hand-written in real-time as I was playing. I didn't have any spoilers, no idea what was going to happen next. I want it to feel as authentic as possible. SPOILERS for quite a lot of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACTS I AND II

**Author's Note:**

> I've always seen open-world type RPGs as a chance to flex my creativity muscles. For me, playing Fallout is more than just an opportunity to point n' shoot. It's an opportunity to live another life. And then to write about it. So what I decided to do was to keep a handwritten journal and to write about the game, as I was playing it. I think the handwritten part is important because my writing takes on a different cadence from when I type and I think it's noticeable. It also keeps me succinct. So my aim was to keep this piece as authentic as possible. I didn't have any spoilers going into the game. Literally the only thing I knew about the Fallout series was that a nuclear bomb goes off and you survive somehow. So everything you're about to read is real and has been edited as little as possible. My thoughts an opinions, and my hopes for the game and my characters. I hope this is a little different from the usual fare, and I hope you enjoy.

Year 2287 (?)

Early November?

Day 36 since being defrosted

Finally found a pen that works. Who’d have thought it would have been this hard?

It’s good to know that there’s still literature out there in the world, even if it’s mostly dime novels and lifestyle mags. At least I can add to the limited and dwindling supply. I want to write something for Shaun. For when he gets home.

I know that, the way the world is now, we’ll never really have peace. And somehow I’ve promised to try and help, or at least to protect people like me, who just want to settle down. I can’t stop telling myself that it’s gonna happen. That someday me and Shaun are gonna be together and safe.

Rebuilding Sanctuary is crucial.  Shaun deserves a place that’s secure, that’s out of the way of all the factional conflicts. We have a source of clean and non-irradiated water and a garden, we have power and a few fusion cores tucked away in case of emergency. And more people keep moving here. Like Cait, an ex-pitfighter. And this other man from the Diamond City who needed somewhere to get sober. You know I think this just might work.

Anyway let me recap a little of what’s happened so far. I don’t remember exactly how long ago I woke up in Vault 111*. (Codsworth counted days for me and informed me later. Previous entries have been updated.) I do remember that after I came back from Concord with Preston, I spent a few days getting violently sick. I had to take time to get used to keeping irradiated food down, and I had to go through withdrawal from my anxiety meds.

After I was back on my feet, I went to Tenpines and helped the civilians by clearing out the old Corvega plant. The vacuum of power left in that neighborhood will likely fill again, but maybe they’ll go extort someone else.

It took Codsworth a little while to get used to traveling with me. I think he was glad for it, but it was hard for him to watch me tear through the place. Because he’s only ever seen the sweater-vest-and-glasses me. He’s never known the soldier in me. He’s never seen me blow a guy’s head off or beat someone to death with a tire iron. He’s never seen me pop amphetamines to stay awake in the field, to dull the shock of getting sprayed with five mils and having both arms broken. I think he’ll come around. But I’m grateful that he’ll be here for Shaun. And Codsworth’s willing to sacrifice for my son, same as me.

Speaking of which, most people I bump into seem genuinely concerned about Shaun and want to help me get him back. Despite the fact that abduction is almost as common as rad poisoning. I expected everyone to be apathetic – but Preston, Piper, and Nick are all eager to help me find him. Nick especially.

He’s made it clear that he’s willing to die for Shaun. Piper’s in it more for answers, the truth, and I can’t argue with that. I want answers too. But Nick has demonstrated time and time again that he was serious about putting his life on the line. The number of times he’s saved my ass. Kept me from rushing in without thinking. Kept me away from Buffout and Psycho. He said something along the lines of, Saving Shaun isn’t enough, you want to raise him and spend time with him, and how’s that gonna work if you’re dead?

Nick says _he’s_ expendable. He gets on my case when I risk my life, but he’s a junkie for risking his own. And he didn’t hesitate to go into the Memory Den even when I begged him not to. I’m not sure if finding Shaun is worth losing Nick. Thankfully it’s not my call.

Which brings me to Kellogg. You know I almost felt sorry for him. But I don’t have any sympathy for a man who perpetuates the cycle. No mercy for a man whose wife and child are murdered, who makes a living murdering wives and stealing children. But you know, I almost get the impression that he _wants_ me to find the Institute and put an end to it? That he _knew_ he was just a stepping stone for me, and that I would have to kill him in the end?

Which I’m not apologizing for. Even if it gave Piper the idea that I’m a violent sociopath. That I’m only out for myself. To which I reply: Aren’t we all?

So. Shaun’s 10.

He’s a little under 4 feet high. Dusty brown hair like Nora. He’s sweet, polite, affectionate. And he can read! I have to admit that one of my biggest fears for him was a poor education. But he’s been taught alright.

Kellogg raised him. And he knows some other, third party as “Father.” Let’s see if we can change that.

* * *

 

Early November 2287 (approx.) Day 39

A few days ago I stormed Trinity Tower in Boston and rescued a thespian/radio-man, Rex, and a Supermutant who goes by Strong. Rex had come to the tower to try and enculturate the other Supermutants there by teaching them Shakespeare. A noble yet unmatchedly stupid effort. Rex is safe back at his radio studio and now Strong is running with me.

Strong is convinced that observing mankind and finding the figurative “milk of human kindness” will grant him, well, more strength. So I have promised to help him find it. I must make an effort to show him how to be altruistic. I believe all creatures can be kind and giving if they are shown how (Excluding yours truly!).

I also helped the settlers at Oberland and have gained their support for the Minutemen. Reforming society has become as much my project as Preston’s. Although I’m still not comfortable being called General.

So now Sanctuary is getting back on its feet and I am content that its citizens will survive.

PS – Kellogg had excellent taste in weaponry.

* * *

Day 40

How will I convince Shaun that he belongs in Sanctuary with me? How will I tell him?

Shaun, I’m your father.

Your ~~biological~~ _real_ father.

This complicates everything.

I’ve already promised myself that I won’t take him anywhere unless he wants to go. I’ll have to fully explain to him where we’ll be going and how we’ll live. And I won’t force him to come with me.

How can I ask him to leave everything and everyone he knows, to live a life of uncertainty with someone he’s never met? He liked Kellogg. How can I tell Shaun that Kellogg killed his mother and left me to die? How can I tell Shaun that I murdered the man who raised him?

I know that no matter what, I must make sure Shaun knows where he’s from. He must know, at the very least, that he comes from a happy, peaceful home where he was loved and wanted and cared for. That his life is not a science project. That I love him and want to be with him, that I want to watch him grow and live the full, rewarding life I’ve always wanted for him. That I want him with me because of who he is, because I love him, not because he was a convenient subject in an experiment he may know nothing about.

I believe that if I can let Shaun know how I love him, even if he chooses not to come with me, that I will have some peace. Every time I visit Sanctuary, I take some time to get the house ready for when Shaun comes home.

I must keep believing that a life with him is possible. I must. Everything I do is a means to that end. It is all I want.

* * *

Day 41

Have some spare time on the way to the Glowing Sea with Codsworth. So I’ll write a little about life after the apocalypse. As oxymoronic as that is.

Like I mentioned earlier, it took me a little over a week to get used to the new outside world. The air is just slightly thinner – perhaps due to the lack of green plants to produce oxygen. The sun doesn’t feel as warm as it used to. But sunburns are still a problem. Since it's generally colder than what I remember, I’m getting used to wearing layers of clothing like everyone else.

As far as the time and date go, Codsworth’s told me that it’s been 41 days since I woke up. A solar day is now about 24 hours and 15 minutes, and Codsworth calculates that the Earth has tilted about one degree on its axis (from all the bombs going off I guess), so now it spins straighter in space in relation to its orbit around the sun. The result is slightly miler seasons, and overall cooler temperatures due to the thinner atmosphere and lack of ozone. The moon and stars have shifted in relation to the horizon but have otherwise remained unchanged.

It took almost 2 weeks to come completely down off my anti-anxiety medication. I don’t remember the days. I just remember sleeping and trying to sleep. Panicking, vomiting, breathing, crying, trying to damage myself but lacking the strength. Mama Murphy watched over me. I remember calling for Nora.

I never thought I would, that a girl like her would become the light of my life. And Nora’s not gone, by the way. I know exactly where she is. She’s fifty feet below Sanctuary. Not gone.

But she is dead.

I’ve lost weight, mostly fat. But some of my muscle has worn away with the radiation sickness. I haven’t shaved because I haven’t found a razor that isn’t rusty, but I did get a trim in the DC. I’ve worn the 111 jumpsuit almost nonstop as unders just because it’s durable. But I only have one pair of socks.

I tried on Piper’s red dress. I have to say, I’ve never, ever wanted to be a woman, I’ve never felt like more of a woman than a man. But I felt powerful, I felt like I hadn’t ever truly been dressed until I saw myself in it.

PS – I don’t trust the Brotherhood. I don’t believe in authoritarianism. And Paladin Danse has a stick up his tall, dark, handsome ass.

* * *

Day 43

The Glowing Sea is – how do I explain? It’s a different world. I can’t believe that a place like that exists only a few feet from my house. I almost don’t.

The ground is cracked and dry, and bleeding bright yellow fallout. The sky is yellow and is always rollicking with lightning. The closer you get to ground zero, the stranger things get.

Giant insects – which, scientifically, doesn’t really make sense due to the deoxygenated atmosphere. Perhaps they’re primarily anaerobic? I’ve also noticed beautiful flowering water plants that seem to thrive on fallout.

There doesn’t seem to be just one crater. There are layers of hills formed by shock, covered with litter and scree. Even the air is pregnant with glowing specks of radiation. 200 years after initial impact. During my trip I realized that this was all caused by the bomb WE saw. Right before Shaun, Nora, and I were frozen.

Scientifically, the fallout from the original bomb would have dissipated after 50 years. Even though some of the ambient radiation would still be around. However, I’ve been told that the nightmarish amount of radiation still flying around to this day isn’t from the bomb. It’s from the power plants. The cars. The fuel stations. The very stuff that was keeping our world going is what caused it to shudder and die.

I saw it happen. And it is still happening. And ghouls, dirty drinking water, and beds made of trash won’t seem like a hardship after this. I thought BOSTON was bad. At least you can breathe there, at least you can still see the sun.

There is a cult of people living in the Glowing Sea who seem to believe that the Atom is a divine entity. Their belief system seems to draw heavily on the concepts of nuclear fusion and fission – though they use other terms, joining and division – as analogies for spirituality. But what is remarkable about them is that they live fully exposed to the radiation. Voluntarily walking through glowing ponds and inhaling iridescent particles of nuclear waste. And they seem unharmed by it.

Perhaps later I shall inquire. As for now, even with my suit on, I’ve absorbed enough rads to have me puking for weeks. Mama Murphy better make up the bed. Again.

Codsworth is not convinced that he’s qualified to run with me this far or this long. But I must keep telling him that he’s the best man for the job. Later I’ll write about the “Box incident.”

And, you know, I’ll have to tell Shaun how I came to be his father. Or how I’m trying to be? Or how I’m in the process of becoming? Maybe that’ll be the first story I write him.

Anyway, Virgil lives in a cave outside the main crater. He lives alone, except for a few sentry bots. At first I thought he was a Supermutant – well, he is – but he’s maintained all of his cognitive facilities. And we were right, he is hiding out because he’s afraid of Kellogg. Or rather, he was. I was a little surprised that it took so long to convince him Kellogg is dead.

Virgil confirmed our suspicions that the only way into the Institute is by teleport beam. The molecular something-or-other. He recommended that I hunt down and capture an Institute Courser and take its teleportation hardware. So that’s the plan.

In addition, I must find Virgil’s old lab and bring him what he needs to attempt to reverse his mutation. I assume that means it’s somatic and not genetic.

Strong is making some progress. He has been able to integrate into Sanctuary all right.

Speaking of which, the DC radio has been reporting about me and Sanctuary. The incident with the Brotherhood and how I rescued Nick. They say that Sanctuary is a beautiful place to live. While the news might attract settlers, I’m sure it’ll also bring in raiders. And I really don’t want to have to put up walls and turrets to high you can’t see the outside world. I don’t want Shaun to grow up in a place like that.

Repaired the power T45, fixed the light in the front hall. Taking Strong to help me find the Courser. Cait still thinks I’m straight.

* * *

Day 46 – Mid-November (?)

Found a courser inside the old Greentech Genetics facility. Killed him, took his chip. He as after a Synth girl named Jenny. She got away and headed off on her own Took the chip to Dr. Amari to be analyzed.

Unfortunately Amari doesn’t know how to use the Courser chip. However she’s recommended that I seek out a group of people called the Railroad – probably a reference to the underground railroad of the mid-19th century. The Railroad is supposed to help Synths escape the Institute.

Piper had actually put me onto the idea right after I met her, a few days before I started this journal. She said you have to follow the Freedom Trail to find them. I thought they might be a quicker route to Shaun. I already tried to follow the Freedom Trail once, but I couldn’t finish. I’ll keep a log of all the encoded markers I find along the way.

That clue at the first marker – something about Freedom’s Lantern. If I remember correctly, that might refer to the lanterns that had been hung in Old North Church on Paul Revere’s famous midnight ride in the 1770’s. So I’ll keep my eyes peeled for more clues.

Anyway Strong is really proving himself. He’s demonstrated that he empathizes with me when I’m in pain, and has carried me out of heavy fire, saving my life, several times. He’s even administered Stimpaks to me when I couldn’t do it myself. I am sure to tell him frequently that his actions make him stronger every day.

I’ve also met a few citizens in Goodneighbor. There’s Kent Connolly, a Ghoul who wants to become a real-life Silver Shroud and do vigilante-style crime-fighting work. He believes that if he brings his favorite hero to life, he can provide security and hope to the Commonwealth.

There’s Daisy, another Ghoul, who works the general store, a sweet woman who faces awful prejudice because of her appearance.

Even curiouser is the factotum of the town – a Ghoul named Hancock who’d just as soon shake your hand as spill your guts. I’ve already seen him do both, and yet I’m not afraid of him. I’d even go so far as to say I trust him.

I sort of accidentally hired a gorgeous ex-merc named MacCready? He’s trying to stay out of the way of the gunners – mad he quit their gang – and I ended up having him come with me before I realized what I was doing. I just didn’t like the idea of him sitting alone in the bar, getting shaken down. Or worse.

I’d rather have someone more invested in the cause – someone who cares about Shaun. But I can’t argue with MacCready’s gorgeous lips and his stubble and his angular jaw. And he wears his bandolier on his THIGH for Christ’s sake. Please, don’t be jealous, Nora. But I AM getting lonely.

And did I mention that he has a disgusting sense of humor? And that he needs _protecting_? I want to get him out of that trench coat like I want one last bowl of Sugar Bombs. I think I may die if I don’t.

Just have to remind myself that he’s here to protect me, not the other way around. And Shaun comes first. No exceptions.

* * *

Day 48.

The Freedom Trail is more dangerous than I thought. So I went and got the T45.

  1. Boston Commons 7-Alpha
  2. Mass. Statehouse 4-Lima
  3. Granary Graveyard 2-Alpha
  4. Goodneighbor 6-Oscar
  5. Old Bookstore 3-India
  6. Fandueil Hall 5-Romeo
  7. P. Revere’s House 8-Delta
  8. Old North Church 1-Romeo



CALLED IT! Why did I have to follow the whole trail. It was. So dangerous.

 

ALAOIRDR

74263581

RAILROAD. Of course.

 

Augusta    Georgia or Maine?

Dayton     Ohio

Griswold   

Randolph 

Stanwix    Central New York

Ticonderoga Northern New York

* * *

Day 50

Have to take the T45 in for repairs and then back to see Virgil. The computer engineer – Tommy something? – got the code from it but their leader insisted on keeping the physical chip. The whole operation is in the catacombs below the church. Just as I suspected. Anyway they seem to run a pretty tight ship.

I am always becoming more and more fond of MacCready. He has a quick mouth, but not necessarily the wit to match. He’s afraid of the dark, hates the water, and scares easily. And he’s not the best in close combat, either. But for some reason that all only endears him to me more. I’m not sure how to explain how I feel. To him or to Shaun. In the meantime he’ll be safe in Sanctuary.

I almost forgot to mention Ada, a droid I rescued near Concord. She has some custom mods on her that make her a target for someone she calls the Mechanist. He killed her master, and her brother and sister droids, so I invited her to stay in Sanctuary.

Everyone I’ve met and helped is living the life I want. Safe, relaxed.

And you know the closer I get to finding Shaun, the farther away from him I feel. Like this journey will never end.

 


	2. INTERMISSO

Day 53.

For the first time in a long time I don’t know what to do next. I can’t write about what happened down there. Shaun’s ok. But he’s not coming home.

* * *

Day 54.

I think I was high when I wrote yesterday. However I still can’t and won’t write about what happened.

I can’t go back in the old house anymore. I can’t even bring myself to close the door or even turn off the lights. It’s just there. Pregnant with stillborn possibility.

You know all the time I was down there I couldn’t stop thinking about everyone up here. I was so afraid of being alone. Of living in an empty house. But I don’t think I’ll ever have to.

Whether I like it or not, I, and everyone who’s joined me, are living in this place I’ve built. Part by accident, part on purpose. So maybe I should stop being jealous of everyone for the peace they have. Start helping people for the sake of it. Follow my own advice, practice a little altruism. And take some credit for my work for a change.

Maybe I should thank Shaun for giving me a reason to do all this. Maybe life will go on if I keep on doing it.

* * *

Day 55 – Late November 2287 approx.

Started to build a new house. Fort. Thing. And it’s made out of concrete and rebar, motherfucker. This thing is STILL gonna be around after the NEXT nuclear apocalypse. And if it isn’t, I’m going to fucking go back in time, slap myself, and tell myself to do a better fucking job.

Anyway I think this is good for me. I’m basically building the bachelor pad I never had. I’m not saying I don’t love the old house. But that was for Shaun and Nora, the prefab postmodern aluminum cookie cutter shit. This is more me. I’ve got a bookcase, a radio, a jukebox, and a Nuka machine. Pretty much all I need to survive.

And, you know. Life’s going. For now.

* * *

Day 58.

On the way to Nahat Wharf on the North end of the Harbor. Made pit stops at the DC and the North Church.

Unfortunately, the Railroad doesn’t trust me anymore. Think I work with the Institute. Well, just now I am, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t get the chance to explain to them that I actually want to help them more, since I’ve seen the way the Institute treats Synths. They’ve made their policy obvious: Synths are things, not people. Even Shaun thinks that way.

But just to be clear, I disagree. Nick might be a rare exception, but he’s dedicated his life to helping people who want him dead or worse. That’s altruism at its finest, and like I’ve been saying all along I believe that it is one of the defining characteristics of mankind. If Nick isn’t his own free-willed fully realized person, then none of us are.

I wonder if Shaun could stand to learn a little about the “milk of human kindness” too.

On the way to Country Crossing, Piper and I ran into the strangest goddamn thing. The _ORIGINAL_ USS Constitution – yes, the frigate – stuck on top of a Savings  & Loan at the waterfront. And it gets better – the ship is fully manned. By robots. Who are still convinced that the US is at war with Red China. You know, the war I actually went to Alaska for.

I actually found myself having fun? Helping the robots fixed their ship? I actually caught myself laughing? And I found myself thinking that maybe it’s okay to relax sometimes, that I don’t have to take everything so seriously?

I’m grateful to Shaun for giving me a reason to live. If I had known what I know now right when I got out of the vault, I wouldn’t have made it. But I think I’m ready to start living the way I want to live. That I’m ready to let myself feel something other than panic and the charred indifference that covers it up. That I’m no longer beholden to something never going to happen.

* * *

Day 60.

I wasn’t able to help the folks at County Crossing right away, but I’ll head back in a few days and see what I can do. I’ve also decided that I won’t help the Institute “recover” any of their Synths. If I see one gone violent, I’ll destroy it. But whenever I'm reminded of that Courser I was supposed to meet, I can’t help but think. It could have been Jenny. Or Nick. I’m not gonna let that happen. And I can’t abide by the life that Synths have to lead – they can either choose between a life of servitude and experimentation, or a life on the run. Neither is acceptable in my eyes.

And maybe that means I probably won’t see Shaun any more.

Anyway I picked up Rob, and together we finished fixing the Constitution. Again, I found myself laughing, just with joy, as we watched it cast off and get stuck again. Fuck it, every step of the quest was worth it. Even killing those raider assholes. At first, I felt guilty about valuing robots over human lives, but the robots are good people. And the raiders weren’t. So fuck ‘em.

After the Constitution got stuck again, Rob got my attention and told me about his debts to the gunners. And how Winlock and Barnes were bound to find him again. He asked for my help. Of course I agreed, almost immediately, to do whatever it’ll take. But what surprised me is how down on himself Rob was, how he was so reluctant to confide in me. Almost like he wasn’t worth the time.

I’m sure nobody starts out feeling that way. But after living on the fringes – or what’s left of them – after being treated as a marked man, like you’re carrying an infectious disease – after literally selling yourself out – I suppose one would begin to feel insecure.

And I almost don’t want to think about how cold some of Rob’s former employers must have been. I don’t want to have to imagine the shit he’d had to put up with before we met. Maybe even abuse.

I just love writing his name. The letters have a sort of physical cadence to them, when they’re written just so.

Robert Joseph MacCready

Robert Joseph MacCready

Robert Joseph MacCready

RJM       RJM       RJM

If only I knew how to tell him that my heart flutters every time I hear his voice, and I always feel safer having heard him release the safety on his rifle. That every time he gets hit, whether by bullet or shell or grenade, it takes all my self-control not to scream his name and blow my cover, run to his side and hold his head in my hands.

If only I could tell him that it’s not about my fucking sex drive. It hasn’t been for a week. It’s not about the money anymore. If only I could tell him I’d let them take me instead, if it came to it. All the predators and lurkers at the bar, any gunners who dared come after us.

I will never quit Rob MacCready. I just need to figure out how to tell him.

* * *

Day 62.

Rob MacCready is a little bit of a contradiction. For all his bravado, he’s actually sort of vulnerable. I love it when he talks big; he makes travelling almost fun. It’s a constant comfort to have him by my side, even if nothing’s going on. I know this is going to sound a little creepy, but I love watching him try and fail to curl up in his coat at night, pulling his cap down over his eyes and holding his rifle like a teddy bear.

Side note – I can’t see a teddy bear without bursting out into uncontrollable blubbering. Don’t think I need to explain why.

So even though Rob seems to ooze confidence, even though there’s a new swagger in his step since we did Winlock and Barnes, I get the feeling that there’s something else. He seems more than happy on the road. But he’s always mentioning that he’s tired. The boy is perpetually looking for a place to nap. He’s says he’s looking for a solid roof over his head. Literally and figuratively, I suppose. But if he feels like he needs to settle, why did he agree to travel with me even though our contract has been fulfilled? Why doesn’t he set up in Sanctuary? He’d be safe there, and not lonely in the least.

My guess is that there’s something he’s not telling me. Not surprising. Getting him to open up is like trying to pick a lock without a pin. I’m a little disappointed, just because I thought he trusted me. Because as of this afternoon, it’s officially not about the caps anymore. So why does he still insist he needs the work? Does he have other debts? Is he planning on heading out? – which would be fine, he’s not bound to me in any sense. Does he think I won’t be around?

Bottom line is, there’s more going on with him. And for whatever reason he doesn’t trust me enough to confide it. Maybe life experience has taught him not to trust his employers. I already know I’ll help him. No matter what it is. All I can do is try to let him know I care for him, that he’s worth more than all the caps in the Commonwealth to me. Somehow.

As far as the Institute business goes, Shaun’s gonna have to wait. But I need to go back at least one more time to get Virgil’s serum.

Oh, what would Nora tell Shaun if she could meet him today?

* * *

Day 63.

Spent the last 2 days running errands and putting the finishing touches on the new house. Spent a few hundred on cement, but I think it’ll be worth it in the long run.

Anyway for the first tine since I was down _there_ I’ve been seriously thinking about the little Synth child. To be perfectly clear, he’s not Shaun. He’s not a replacement for Shaun. But he is a young boy who needs a guardian. Maybe. He’s seen the surface, he’s even lived in the DC for a while. Just maybe. But at this point, given the tenuous nature of my relationship with the Institute – Shaun trusts me, but I haven’t been explicit about my alliance or rolé yet. But I will be soon.

So what I’m trying to say is, it’s entirely possible that there’s still a little boy out there who needs me. I don’t think it’s urgent – not like before, back when I didn’t know. He’s not being abused as far as I could tell. But maybe I can offer him a life up here. Somewhat free.

What sort of life does an Institute child lead? They have hot running water, clean clothes, safe comfortable beds, and plenty of healthy food. But it’s a glorified lab. It’s sterile. And cold. Who raises the children? Are they shown affection? Beyond the perfunctory smiles and embraces – are Institute children shown love?

I wonder who raised Shaun. If it was anyone at all. I wonder why he didn’t ask for me.

Addendum.

I AM NOT the kind of person who helps other people. I’m just not. Never have been. So why do I have so much invested in the Minutemen, the Railroad, in Rob, in the Synth boy, in Strong, in Nick, in Piper and Cait. Why.

I used to isolate myself and make a point of not giving a shit. Honestly I didn’t even care about the war until I was in it. I didn’t care during. Or after. Or ever. Because it didn’t affect me, cloistered in at home. Alright, laugh at the irony.

But even as I was up in Alaska freezing my ass off in my T45s, I didn’t care who I was with or against. Red or capitalist, Commie or patriot. I just didn’t give a shit. I just counted the days until my tour ended. Literally. The days. The hours. When it got bad, the minutes. I didn’t make any army buddies. I don’t have any war stories.

Maybe I’m involved now because I’m not ready to see the world around me change without me. I will be someday, but not just now. Maybe it’s because I have to have a hand in what happens. Because before, nothing concerned me, locked up in the house, half-awake in front of the TV.  Avoiding light. Eating the same meal over and over.

But now, everything does.

* * *

Day 64.

Went to the Institute – possibly for the last time and I got Virgil’s serum. I found it in a ruined section of the Bio lab, guarded by turrets and an angry assault droid. I also discovered that Virgil’s work at the Institute involved Supermutants. Live specimens. Or, at least, specimens that _had been_ alive. And it looked like they’d been abused.

So now I’m not sure about Virgil. There’s no telling how old he really is in this state. Could he have been partially responsible for creating the first Supers? Originally I thought that the condition of Super-mutation was caused by radiation. But I’ve learned that it’s intentional. Caused by a drug of some kind. So what Virgil’s become is surely self-inflicted and not a result of his time spent in the Glowing Sea. Super-mutation isn’t an accident.

But maybe if there’s hope for Virgil, there’s hope for Strong. Not that there’s anything about the big guy that needs curing. But Strong has a beautiful, exceptional mind and I’m afraid it’ll wither and die in a body that’s a terrible fit for it.

Either way Virgil has some explaining to do.

* * *

Day 65.

Virgil wasn’t eager to share. But I’ll be back to check on him in 5 days. Fingers crossed.

In other news I have to try and get Rob off the drink. May the powers that be protect what’s left of his poor liver.

* * *

Day 66. Early December.

Getting cold. Have to wear gloves and my ear-flap hat under my helmet now.

And Rob. Is. A. Peach!

Long story short, I was on my way to get the old Silver Shroud costume and we ended up at Hubris Comics. Now I know that Rob is the kind of guy who doesn’t just know the titles. He knows the characters, the authors, the issue numbers. It’s adorable and wonderful and I want to wrap myself around him like a goddamn octopus.

Anyway there were ghouls in the shop. Not strong ones, but lots of them. Rob got hurt badly. I fell through the floor and we got separated. It took a few minutes for me to clean up and get to his side.

Now I know it’s sort of sick. But I don’t know how else to describe it. I sort of – cherished? – his weight in my arms as I pulled him up and put a Stimpak in his arm. I held him close as his vision refocused and his breathing slowed and evened out.

I let him go straight away, but I still got the impression that straight away was too long. That he doesn’t like to be held. So I won’t impress. I can only hope that it’s not for the obvious reason. Because, you know, I’m gay.

On the way to Goodneighbor he told me a little about his childhood. But what touched me is that he said he’d do everything he could to stick with me – and that he’s scared to death of being alone. Even though he acts aloof. So we have that in common. Neither of us wants to live alone.

And I couldn’t be happier. Even though he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him. I just want to spend time with him, and he wants to spend time with me. Couldn’t ask for more.

And did I mention I’m a superhero now? Kent Connolly didn’t want the costume after all. Said he didn’t have the disposition required for the part. So I took it. It’s a beautiful piece, actually. And people recognize it when they see it. I’m doing the voice, too, just like they used to on the radio. I used to do something similar when I read to Shaun. Character voices.

This is fun for all the wrong reasons. Who said murder had to be boring? So far I’ve taken care of 3 miscreants. They’re criminals, really. A guy who slaughtered a woman and child, a ding-dong who was selling chems to kids, and the head of a raiders’ nest. I’m basically going around killing Goodneighbor’s public enemies. And it’s not like these assholes deny what they did. Otherwise I might feel guilty.

Rob actually stood up for me. Voluntarily. In the open. In front of aforementioned ding-dong. Called him out for me. And he called me boss. Not sure how I feel about that. I just don’t understand this boy. Am I his friend, his boss, or his meal ticket? Could I be all three?

Weird-ass day all around. Sleeping in an abandoned sniper’s nest. Promised Rob I’ll watch his back.

* * *

Day 67.

This Silver Shroud business is getting messy. All fun and games it's not. Turns out all the small hits I did belonged to a big boss named Sinjin. Hancock himself asked me to do two of Sinjin's lieutenants, so I did, in an effort to draw Sinjin out. Worked too well. Sinjin kidnapped Kent and tortured the poor guy.

Now what Kent did was dumb. But he was only trying to help people. He said he needs some time to rest and everything, and he won’t have any new missions for me just yet. But I should stay tuned.

Now I got talking to Daisy, and she claims she’s about 270 years old. She said there was another prewar Ghoul staying at the Rexford so I stopped by to meet the guy, maybe shoot some shit. Turns out the poor bastard she mentioned is the very same Vault-Tec sales guy who got me, Nora, and Shaun a spot in 111 minutes before the bombs fell. I remember the guards at the entrance to the site turned him away, as he begged them to let him in.

I think that initial rejection really bothered him. Not just in the sense that he was exposed to unthinkable amounts of nuclear fallout, but the fact that now, he’d got it in his head that company policy was more important than human life. His life. That he was disposable somehow. And he’s had 200 years to let it sink in.

At first I was furious at him. I pulled my ten mil on him and screamed at him. Asked him if he’d known what Vault-Tec had been up to all along. Asked him what the fuck he had been doing squatting in my house, what the fuck he had done to Codsworth.

Turns out he’s just an average guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That he was really scared and lonely and just needs a place to stay. So Sanctuary’s his new home. Maybe I can ask him to serve as a liaison to new settlements for us. Traveling salesman is his chosen profession, after all.

Going to drop off Rob, pick up the T45, and go check on Virgil. Gotta prepare for the worst.

* * *

Day 68.

Rob seemed really sad to see me go. Maybe even worried. I gotta come back for him ASAP.

* * *

Day 69.

Virgil is absolutely fucking fine! The Serum couldn’t have worked any better. He’s going to continue and try and perfect the serum so it can be used on everyone. So for now my questions are answered and I’m content with Virgil’s work.

* * *

Day 72.

Took the T45 to County Crossing. Cleared out the Revere Satellite station – well, we actually stumbled into it by accident. Wouldn’t have survived without the T45. It was the worst hole-up of Supermutants I’d ever seen.

You know how a fight starts – often times you’re the one who starts it – and everything’s going okay, you feel good, you feel prepared. But then halfway through things turn. You start losing, you don’t want to be there anymore. And the scary thing is you don’t have a choice. It’s been a long time since I’d fought that kind of fight. I actually passed out inside my armor from all the fumes, from all the grenades and Molotov cocktails I ate. Rob pulled the manual release, peeled me out of it, and got us set up in a sniper’s nest to rest. Still not sure how he managed it.

That was yesterday night. Rob and I spent this afternoon on the beach, running around like idiots through the calm waves and litter. It was gorgeous. Sunny, seasonably warm, a slight sea breeze. And I said to myself, this is what I had wanted for Shaun. Still do. You just can’t get this sort of effervescent joy in a lab.

But all our worries returned when a Brotherhood vertibird flew by.

 


	3. ACT III

Day 75.

Want to get something down on paper before I do anything else. I finally decided to meet the Courser that Shaun wanted me to meet. Forget all this ethos nonsense, the fact was that there was a Synth out there hurting people. I met with the Courser at Libertalia, a huge wrecked ship in the harbor. X-something he’s called. I’m not sure I like how they use numbers instead of names.

Anyway I wanted to kill the Synth we were after. He knew damn well what he was risking when he escaped. I thought I could at least respect the choice he’d made –rather to die than to be returned to the Institute. But X used that recovery code on him. Brought him back here.

Now Shaun says that the Institute isn’t liable for what that Synth did. Because that would mean that it had a say in what happened. Meaning it had free will. And Shaun doesn’t believe that Synths have free will. He can’t simultaneously blame them for their actions and then claim they’re not capable of free thought. I’m not buying it.

They gave me a room. I literally cried in the shower, just because the hot water was so painfully, acutely good and the soap smelled so much like my old life it physically hurt. Slept for hours. Going topside is going to smart after this. Missing Rob.

* * *

Day 76. Mid-December.

So I’ve found out how Shaun rationalizes his “Synths have no free will” viewpoint. According to him, the Railroad doesn’t assist Synths who want to escape, it actively steals them. And is Shaun angry. He actually asked me, hypothetically, what would I do if something I cared about was stolen? I tried not to snort.

This time is going to be more difficult. The Synth at Libertalia was a menace, and clearly had to be taken down. But these I’m after now haven’t done anything wrong yet.

I love Shaun and I want to do everything I can to help. But this isn’t what I had in mind. I don’t want anyone at Sanctuary to know about this. Christ. Nick and Piper would never trust me again. Nobody would.

Later.

The battle at Bunker Hill was a complete shitshow. Brotherhood vs Institute vs Railroad. Found the four Synths in question huddled in the basement shelter, protected by Railroad agents. They were fucking terrified. I didn’t kill any Railroad agents. But I didn’t stop to save any either. I did get a few Brotherhood footsoldiers, and the Courser that had been sent to protect me.

It was a split-second decision, I didn’t think at all. But I couldn’t. It would have been a no-win for those Synths, either slavery or death. And I’m glad of what happened. Proud. Maybe those Synths can go on to choose their own names, now.

* * *

Day 78.

Helped Preston retake the Castle and set up the old radio tower there.

I was actually shocked when Pres said he’d help me get to the bottom of this Institute business once and for all. I was certain nobody was ever going to trust me again after what I had done. I very well could have betrayed them all to the Institute.

Back before the war I wouldn’t have given two shits if anybody trusted me or not. But that’s because nobody was on my radar. I didn’t care what people thought because nobody’s opinion was going to change anything about me. I was a fucking island. Nora being the exception, as always. But now my life is so fully intertwined with those of my friends that I could never let them down. Either through what I’ve done or what I’ve failed to do.

Not going to get into detail over what happened with Shaun. I’m devastated that all he could see for the Commonwealth was disaster. But I am eternally thankful that I at least got to tell him I love him and always will. I only hoped that I’d have been able to spend more time with him. See him smile. I’ll just imagine he smiles like Nora.

Planning on spending the next few days travelling and helping new settlements out.

* * *

Day 83.

Over the past few days I’ve helped the settlers at Nordhagen Beach and Sommerville Place, and cleared the old Starlight Drive-in and Sunshine Co-op. I also managed to record and loop a stupid radio message at each new site, inviting settlers in. My fear is that Raiders or Gunners or worse will find the sites first.

Next, I headed back to the castle where I met a veteran Minuteman named Ronnie Shaw, hoping to come out of retirement. She helped us reopen the armory and get one of the big artillery guns working again. Feeling pretty confident about its capabilities. All I need to do is drop a smoke grenade near the target and stand back. That thing can blow the bajeezus out of whatever’s in range.

Seeing the guns at the Castle juxtaposed with the Brotherhood’s zeppelin, less than a kilometer way, is horrifying. Over the past week or so BOS vertibirds have been getting to be a more and more common sight. Both streaming overhead and in wrecked heaps on the ground. And I can’t help but feel that something awful and explosive and final is going to happen. Soon.

News of what happened at Bunker Hill has spread. Not the specifics – and thank God, nothing to do with me – but that the BOS, Railroad, and Institute were all involved. People seem to agree that there wasn’t a clear winner, and that it was a total shitshow like I said.

After the artillery test fire Rob took me aside to talk to me again. Told me about his son, Duncan. And why he had come to the Commonwealth in the first place. My heart absolutely broke. I had known that he had been keeping something from me, and I thought it was something involving him. Maybe something from his past. I was half-right.

What bothers me about all of this is how long he waited to tell me he needed help. I got close to actually shouting at him. He should have told me the day we met. Rationally I understand why he couldn’t have. The nature of our relationship was so different, and he was in no position to make demands or ask favors.

But after he had gotten to know me, after I’ve told him over and over again that I care about him, after extending our trust in each other so far. We’ve literally carried each other, unconscious, bruised, bleeding, bones broken out of situations I wouldn’t have wished on even Kellogg. Guarded each other as we took turns sleeping. We’ve done so much that no amount of caps could justify.

And he’s known about Shaun all along, too, I never kept that a secret from him. He watched me lose it after I came back from the Institute the first time. He knows how I feel about loss and family. I’d have helped Rob save his son if he’d asked for every cap I had and told me the cure was in Alaska.

And yet I feel somewhat culpable. How badly had Rob been hurt in the past to still not trust me completely? What else could I have done to let him know that he can always ask me for help? And how bad must things have been that he would risk his son’s life waiting? Is it a matter of confidence? In himself? In me?

He needs to be told every day, every hour, every minute that he matters, that he’s worth it, that his life is more precious to me than air. And that Duncan’s life is non-negotiable.

* * *

Day 84.

How much can I write about Rob? Life really is different when you’re in love. I mean, I was in love with Nora, but not like this. We’re on the verge of war here and Rob is all I can think about. Is he alright. Is he safe. Is he happy. Does he know I love him.

Of course he doesn’t. Because it would ruin everything if he knew.

Anyway, by some ungodly, uncanny, unholy stroke of luck, the drug Duncan needs was there in the basement of MedTech. Just the one dose. Unlikely it was developed just for Duncan’s condition; it’s probably some sort of experimental super-drug. It’s called “Prevent.” Maybe it's a vaccine, maybe it doesn’t cure diseases the patient already has. I only hope it works on new mutant strains of disease, and that it doesn’t do more harm than good to little boys.

And it's just as well that we got the cure when we did. Because the second we got out of the building, a vertibird landed and Brotherhood troops swarmed all over the place. That's not uncommon nowadays. They don't engage on sight, but they still make me extremely uncomfortable.

We sent the drug down to the Capitol Wasteland with one of Daisy’s supply caravans. I actually didn’t know, but Rob and Daisy are really close. I was more than a little surprised that Rob didn’t end up going himself, but Daisy assured us that a trade caravan was the fastest way. Now to keep our fingers crossed. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to Rob, too.

Later.

I’ve been playing host to this odd little bubble of excitement since this time yesterday. Now that the cure is on its way to Duncan, I can’t wait for news. I believe that the odds are slim for the poor kid. But for some strange reason I can’t help but hope for the best. That Duncan will be okay.

That Rob will bring him up here, and there’ll be a new little boy in my life, and Sanctuary will be a real neighborhood again. Maybe we could be a family.

Or maybe I’m just being selfish. Maybe I just can’t wrap my head around the thought that I’m not going to be a dad anymore.

Even later.

I have some spare time, Rob and I are staying at the Rexford for the night. So I think I’m ready to write about Shaun.

My foremost thought is that he’s not the man I expected him to be. Yes, he’s brilliant and sure of himself, he’s a natural leader, and he’s respected and maybe even loved by the people he lives with. But he’s a very different person than I’d hoped.

I myself have changed since before the end of the world. I believe that this calamity has forced me to become my best self. I have brought people together, and somehow I’ve found not only the strength but the will to protect them. Whereas before I didn’t even have the will to protect myself. I’m not sure the old me would have made a good father – all I could do was cling to my love for Shaun and Nora and let that sustain me. Now I know the person I have become never would have let Shaun grow up alone. Afraid of what he’s never even seen.

I was surprised that Shaun’s intelligence on surface life is so extensive. He already knows about the Railroad and the Brotherhood and everything. Despite never having set foot above ground. Until a week ago.

I expected my son to grow up and be successful and influential. But I also wanted him to have something the old me never did. A sense of duty. A sense of humanity. The ability to look at the world and see a source of joy and opportunity and promise like I never could. Not until I met Nora, anyway.

She had just started to love me back into existence. Get me to wake up before noon. Shave. Go outside. Eat something other than Sugar Bombs. Hold Shaun.

Well I guess the fact that Shaun and I both bury our heads in the sand when we’re scared goes to show that nurture wins out over nature. (In case I haven’t said so already, Shaun’s not my biological son.)

And yes, he’s scared. When Shaun looked out over Boston, he frowned. Told me that clinched it.  There was nothing on the surface worth living or dying for. I think he was afraid of facing something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control. Might have been the first time in his life that he felt that way.

And I understand the fear. The disbelief, how could something like this have happened? The frustration, the self-loathing. The urge to try and clean up everything at once and the electrifying, sickening realization that it isn’t possible.

We can only overcome our fears by facing them. Like I was forced to. When Shaun woke me up almost three months ago, I didn’t have anywhere to go. Nowhere to hide or lock myself in and I believe that’s actually why I managed to survive. Why I’m not afraid anymore. Finally.

So as long as Shaun refuses to face the surface for what it is, so long as he can hide underground where it’s safe and familiar, I don’t think anything will change his mind. As long as he refuses my offer to visit Sanctuary for a few weeks. To see my side of the story. So long as he hides, much as I once did.

* * *

Day 85.

I CAN 2 WRITE ASHOLE

THIESE FINGERS WERE MAID 4 SNIPING NOT RITING

Long story short -- Rob got mad when I told him that being able to read didn't necessarily mean he's able to write. That's his own hand above, but he had to ask Piper how to spell some of the words. Pity he didn't take her advice.

At least now I know where all my comic mags have been going. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I have reason to believe that the BOS is in possession of some weapon or artifact that has incredible thermal and explosive power. Evidenced in 3 BOS battlefield holotapes. Will investigate. BOS is becoming a real threat.

Rob doesn't like Synths. I must conclude that it's because he's too much a part of the world where Synths are predators and nothing more. I'd have hoped everything we've been through and seen would've changed his mind. 

Maybe seeing things differently than most people is easy for me because I haven't been here long enough to develop a really deep bias against anything except the Brotherhood. Good men and women on a foolish mission.

* * *

Day 86. Late December

Helped a couple at Greentop Nursery. Husband had been kidnapped by Raiders. Freed him and brought him home from Cambridge, but he broke his leg in the process.

I have noticed Rob taking fewer risks as far as our safety is concerned -- insisting we only travel during the day and the like. Maybe the thought o him being a dad again has put some sense in him.

BOS has established a presence in Cambridge. Not ashamed to say I'm beyond worried.

* * *

Day 88.

Spending the night at The Slog, an all-Ghoul settlement that's converted a swimming pool into a Tarberry bog. One of the cleverest and most secure settlements I've ever seen. They need us to clear out a Supermutant band at the site of another potential settlement, Breakhart Banks. Luckily the crops from the last occupation of the Banks were in good shape. Even looks like the Supers tended to them a little.

News of the Silver Shroud incident has reached the DC radio crew.

Anyways I'm extremely optimistic for the agricultural output of the Slog, and the success of its people.

Including a sweet old fella, Arlen, who's doing his damnedest to rebuild a Giddy-up Buttercup and is offering 150 caps for the rest of the parts he needs.

* * *

Day 90. 

So it's been 3 months today.

We took crops from the Slog and planted them at the Co-op. Working on establishing trade between the settlements. Looks like I'll have to draw up a proper map at some point to keep track.

Met Blake Abernathy and his family. Promised to get his daughter's locket back from the Raiders who killed her. Told Blake I knew what it was like to lose a child. Guess that means that Shaun's officially lost, then. Made Rob nervous discussing it. He's probably worried for Duncan.

Today the DC reported rumors that the Institute is building some sort of -- they called it a "device." Again I get the feeling that the BOS, Institute, and Railroad are all gearing up for war. Hope I can organize enough people to get them to stop.

* * *

 

Day 91.

The Institute is planning an attack on the Castle. It's incredibly hard not to take this personally, because the Minutemen don't have an official stake in the whole escaped Synth issue. So I can only conclude that they're trying to get us before we get to be a threat they can't attack directly, like the Brotherhood. Either that or they are -- and I mean Shaun is -- after me personally for what I did at Bunker Hill.

Again I am disappointed at the sort of man Shaun has become.

And I don't find myself praying or hoping or wishing often. But if there's any way at all that this won't end in tragedy, please. Maybe we can end it before it gets bad. Please let there be a way to keep the fighting contained and away from everything we've tried so hard to build.

I promised I'd never go to war again. And here I am. Voluntarily putting myself through this fucking hell for some reason. For them, I guess. To keep all of them alive and safe. So they have half a fucking chance in the middle of all this factional bullshit. I want them to have that, at least. Because I care, now. I didn't so much before. But I do now.

So that dream I had, the house full of matched furniture and memories and child's toys, maybe I can save that dream for someone else. That sign I placed over the door of the old house, "Mark and Shaun," it says. Maybe I can keep that dream alive for someone else. Maybe someone I know and love. Someday when all this passes.

I've never stopped telling myself that things will get better. And I'll live to see them. But up until now I had to tell myself that, to keep myself going. Maybe now, I think I'll be okay even if this all completely wastes me. I think I'll be okay if the world goes on without me. I know I wouldn't have been 2 months ago, like I wrote. But I think I'll be okay even if I'm not around to see the end result.

Leaving Rob at home.

* * *

Day 93. 

Visiting all the settlements I know of ask for more support at the Castle. Pres is doing the same.

I've told him explicitly that everyone who comes to defend the Castle MUST be there of their own free will. Because if we force, trick, or coerce anyone into fighting then we've already lost the battle. Because ultimately I'm fighting for the civilians' rights to live away from the war, and to choose if, when, and where they stand their ground. And if we dictate that for them, we've become the enemy.

Unfortunately I can see as clear as day the hypocrisy in handcuffing Rob to the couch in the common house in Sanctuary while he was asleep, and leaving him there. Piper has the key and is only to let him out if he's in physical danger. But I have an awful feeling about how this battle is going to go, and I don't want anyone to have to explain to Duncan why his daddy died fighting.

* * *

Day 94.

The Institute broadcast a message on the DC radio frequency today officially announcing its presence to the Commonwealth. Rumour has become fact. They asked that "normal" humans not interfere with their business. That they're not interested in our petty day-to-day struggles. That they are the future.

Read: That they are the ONLY future. So the Institute has gone totalitarian. 

I am thoroughly terrified that there is nothing I can do. The Brotherhood owns the sky, the Institute owns the ground. And I'm not even confident that I can carve out a little neutral sphere to live in. Let alone put an end to all this infighting.

Running out of time.

* * *

Day 97. Early January.

The battle was awful. Char-broiled a-la-Satan certified grade-A horrendous. It wasn't the final, defining moment I thought it would be, but it was still an atrocity. I'm actually shocked I survived. But I didn't have the heart to tell the Minutemen we only "won" because the Institute decided not to send any more soldiers. As if they're going to run out.

I think I did one too many hits of Psycho during the battle. Starting to feel sick.

I'm skeptical that Pres' plan will work. If I know anything about the Institute, it's that they're never taken by surprise. It's kind of their thing. And I don't know how I feel about retaliation. Taking the fighting to their homes and families, answering their call for violence. But I'm not really sure we have a choice. Asked Pres to accompany me personally. Still going to insist that Rob stays behind. Not confident he would have survived the Castle.

* * *

Day 100. Do I win something?

Pres can't follow me directly. There's going to be too much radiation where I'm going. Have to go alone. Going to see if there's a chance to talk to Shaun before I bring the Minutemen in. 

Spending some time fixing up the T60.

Rob was still fucking furious with me. But I know he understands why I did what I did. Especially after Pres and I described the battle to Piper for her next issue of  _Occurrences_. 

In any case, our troubles won't be solved at this. I don't believe in a one-dose cure all. Not for this. Somehow I feel weirdly confident. And probably for all the wrong reasons. Because I'm really not sure that I want to do this. 


	4. EPILOGUE

Day 105.

I finally have a day off. It's been weeks since I've been able to sit back and relax and write. I can't begin to describe the relief I feel. The setting sun's shining, even though you can't feel it. And even though it's January it's not freezing cold out, not like it used to be. We've had a dusting of mildly radioactive snow and that's it. I'm told that we can probably start farming again around March.

Rob, little Shaun, and myself are all warm and cozy in front of the fire in the house I've built. We just ate. Shaun is on Rob's lap and they're reading a comic book together. The jukebox is warbling in the background. The beat-up sofa is comfortable for a change.

Four days ago I set out to get the Minutemen into the Institute and put a stop to their aggression. I guess I didn't realize that meant taking them down, once and for all. I can't help but feel like we've killed something living. Because in a sense the Institute was, it was a growing, changing, learning organism.

I feel like the Romans when they conquered Alexandria. Did they think twice before burning the library? Did they feel guilt when they destroyed thousands of years of knowledge and progress? I sure as hell do. It's a horrible pity that all that work is buried under tons of radioactive rock.

Along with Shaun. I need to take a moment. This whole time I've been chasing after him, I'd actually been pushing him further and further away. First in realizing that he was grown and he didn't need me anymore. Next in betraying him at Bunker Hill. Now this. My little boy is dead. Buried. Just like his mom.

I had suspected that things were going to end badly between us. My offer of parley didn't go over. I was shocked. Devastated that he had taken my betrayal as a personal insult. He thought, right up to the end, that I had abandoned him. That I had cast him aside. That I didn't want him anymore.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I almost fucked up the mission, after I cleared the Institute rotunda, went upstairs, and issued the evac order. Fucking Preston had to come get me. Shaun had passed out or fallen asleep -- I wasn't sure which -- and when Pres came in I was trying to get him out of bed and carry him with me. Even though Shaun had said he'd hate me if I did.

I cried worse than when I first met him. I can't think about my baby. Crushed. Dead. Dead and mad at me. Dead and dying and sick and alone. Pres had to physically take his hands out of mine and drag me away. They were icy cold, but soft, smooth, like marble. I should have been there, I should have let the fucking rocks bury me too. It was a bomb that started all this so it's only fitting a bomb should end it all.

So they made me leave him.

My son never lived the life I wanted for him. Yes, he lived a life of safety, security, and health. Yes, he was educated in the finest tradition in the world and used that knowledge to help people. He was a natural leader, and he used that to guide the Institute to its success. But I had wanted so much more for him.

On his deathbed he accused me of destroying everything he loved. Note, everything, not everyone. I had always wished that Shaun could have someone in his life. That he would be able to make friends, _real_ friends and keep them like I never could. But it seems that for one reason or another, he failed. And never had I heard anyone speak fondly of him more intimately than a business colleague would.

But he will always be the baby I was almost too scared to hold, just because I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to be his dad. And no amount of time or war can change that.

However, there is one sort of ray of light in all this, something that means, I think, that Shaun wasn't completely lost. He sent me a holotape with the little Synth boy -- also called Shaun -- of one of his final requests. I think he must have recorded it just before we showed up. He said he wanted me to take care of little Shaun.

And you know he called little Shaun a boy? A _he_? Not it, not a thing. _He_. And Shaun, my son, asked me to raise him. Said he had reprogrammed the boy to think he was human. To think he was mine.

So in a way, I guess, Shaun did come around. He _did_ have it in him to see a Synth as a full person. The fact that it must have been like looking in a mirror -- I'm sure that had something to do with it. Maybe Shaun remembered what it was like to grow up without parents. To grow up not knowing. Maybe he remembered being alone. Having questions. Wanting to take shelter with someone.

Maybe he did it to make up for the time we'd lost. Me and him. When I first found him at the Institute I cried for nearly an hour. Not because I was upset, just because I'd missed it. Him growing up. So maybe this is his way of trying to take care of me, too. Even though he hated me at the end.

And the fact that he was able to empathize with something that he didn't even acknowledge as _alive_ , that he was able to do something entirely selfless for someone else -- whether it was for little Shaun or for me -- gives me hope. Maybe Shaun didn't live the life I knew he could, but maybe he was the man I'd known he was after all. Deep down.

In any case little Shaun (as I'll call him from now on) is -- he's everything I'd ever hoped. He's sweet, kind, considerate, polite, loving, affectionate, curious, smart, and he's -- he's not shy at all, his social skills are _amazing_ , he's incredible at making friends. And everything he does is entirely sincere. I feel that his attachment to this world is real. Something his predecessor never felt, a real sense of belonging and purpose.

THAT'S what I wanted for him all along. A world worth living in and a will to live in it. This is what I wanted. And I finally have it, a promise of a good life for my son.

Now it's occurred to me that little Shaun won't grow up. Not physically, anyway. I'm not entirely sure how much of his anatomy is organic and how much is synthetic. Maybe his mind will continue to grow even if his body doesn't. But the fact that he's a Synth doesn't mean he's any less deserving of love. He's not a replacement. He never will be. But he is my son.

Anyway little Shaun has shown a remarkable aptitude for mechanical engineering and has made me a new rifle he calls the Wazer Wifle. Not sure why. But it's pretty damn good, and I told him so. And he made it just from the spare parts I had in my pack while we were hiking back to Sanctuary with Sturges.

Pres decided to stay at the Castle for the time being. A good idea, given that the BOS is still so close. And I still don't trust them not to turn on the Minutemen. I get the feeling that if we show any sort of centralized power starting to accumulate, they'll at least seriously consider dissolving it any way they can. Not sure what their business is now that the Institute is gone. Maybe they'll take that stupid big zeppelin thing and move the fuck on.

We got back to Sanctuary yesterday and settled in. I can't begin to describe how proud I was to finally introduce Shaun to everyone. I noticed that everyone living in Sanctuary now, I met during my journey to find Shaun. It was a triumph beyond anything I had ever known, getting to show them all what we'd all been fighting for. I told Shaun that everyone in the neighborhood was there thanks to him, and that because of him, none of us ever had to be lonely ever again.

He fit in immediately, happy to be reunited with Nick and Piper (whom he'd known during his brief stay in the DC) and to meet Cait, Strong, Mama Murphy, Jun and Nancy, Dogmeat, Ada, the Vault-Tec Guy (still won't give a real name), Rob, and Codsworth. Codsworth just about lost his damn mind, he was so happy to have Shaun back.

And I'm pleased to report that Rob gave me a hug with a running start when I crossed the bridge back into town. Almost knocked me right over. Guess that answers my questions as to whether my feelings for him are mutual. They are, in all the ways that matter.

I believe that Shaun will be truly happy here.

So as it turns out, nothing I've done in my first 100 days was a waste. In any way. I lost hope halfway there, but I think I've gotten it almost all back now.

And all I know is that I will NOT be fighting in any more goddamn. Awful. Gross. Horrifying. Wars. Ever. For all time. Because war is fucked up no matter what century you're in. And I'll only tolerate it up to the point where I'm helping people I love. No more, no less.

I wonder if this is what Nora wanted for _me_. We agreed on what we wanted for Shaun. But is this what she wanted me to have all along? Just -- somewhere I fit in? A reason to keep going? People I love, who love me back? Is this it, Nora? Have I found what you had been helping me search for?

In conclusion, I am the happiest I've ever been.

 


End file.
